


Tales of a Quarantine

by doomtwinkie (shinysparks)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, I did mention I was bored right?, I legit have no idea where I’m going with this, I’ve had waaaaay too much caffeine, Plots are overrated, This is how I cope with the apocalypse okay?, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, content warnings are posted per chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinysparks/pseuds/doomtwinkie
Summary: Two witnesses + one house + one lockdown of indeterminate length = hilarity ensues. Or something. I don’t know. It’s just random ficlets and stuff because I’m bored, okay?
Relationships: Ichabod Crane & Abbie Mills, Ichabod Crane/Abbie Mills
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	1. The WIFI

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thymelady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymelady/gifts).



"Leftenant!" Crane screamed, sounding panicked and causing Abbie to come running to his aid. She half expected to find him lying on the ground, possibly covered in blood. Instead, he stood there, looking horrified and stunned, with his phone in his hand. Lip wibbling, he spoke.

"The wifi.... it's gone," he said, trembling.

"Uh-huh," Abbie nodded, sighing.

"But why is the wifi gone?!"  
"Because of the quarantine? More people using the internet, so more hiccups. Outages were bound to happen."

Crane stared at her, looking quite scandalized.

"O...outage?!" He mumbled, "for how long?!"  
"Does it matter?"  
"We are stuck inside indefinitely! Of course it matters!" He said, exasperated, "besides, without it, I cannot instantgram my supper, and look at how amazing my photo looks!"

He showed Abbie a very lovely photo of a turkey sandwich. Abbie rolled her eyes.

"Tell me, Crane: how did you ever survive the 18th century?”


	2. Leftenant

“L...Lef... Leftenant!” Crane stuttered, before loudly hiccuping, as he sloshed his fifth cup of rum around drunkenly.

“Huh?” Abbie called from above him, splayed on her fine couch. She’d given up after the fourth cup, and instead laid there, staring up at the ceiling.

“Lef... leffy...” He mouthed, eyes swimming around in his head, “why is ‘leftenant’ spelled L...I....E...U...” he paused for a moment, “...tenant?”

“Because normal people pronounce it ‘LOO-TEN-ANT.’”  
“How are you - HIC - getting ‘loo” from ‘L...E... No, wait... L...I...E...U?”  
“I think the ‘i’ is silent, Crane,” she said, sounding bored, “how the hell do you get ‘lef’ from ‘L...I...E...U...?’”

Crane sat there, quiet, deep in thought - or at least, attempting it. He sat there, motionless at first, before he started to sway from side, to side, and then forward and backwards. And then, with a quick lurch, he went completely over, passing out unconscious on Abbie’s rug.

Abbie groaned loudly, and slipped her foot off of the couch. She fished around for a few moments, before making contact with Crane’s up-ended backside. Bare toes squishing his squishy butt cheeks, she began to move her foot back and forth, shaking him.

“Crane? You alive down there?” She called.

He said nothing, only gave a brief snort, and then snored loudly.

Abbie groaned again.

“Week two of quarantine is clearly off to a lovely start here...” she muttered to herself.


	3. Sacrifices

“Crane?” Abbie asked, sighing, as she placed her arm around him gently, “are you okay?”

He said nothing, staring blankly at the wall; but, after a few moments, he nodded yes.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise you,” Abbie said, trying as hard as she could to be comforting, “The sacrifices you’re making during this quarantine are not in vain. You’ll make it through this, I swear.”

He nodded again. Abbie rubbed his back.

“But, tell me, Leftenant,” he finally spoke, his voice sounding like it was choking back tears, “how is a donut shop not considered an _‘essential business?’_ ”


	4. The Predicament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I was half asleep when I wrote this. ;)

Abbie groaned loudly, slamming the extra large first-aid kit down on her kitchen table. She stared down at Crane, who was still looking completely and utterly stunned. He bit his lip, eyeing his singed hands and fingers worriedly.

Abbie shook her head. Her entire house smelled like burned dough, burned hair, and for some reason, burned bacon. Donut holes. He’d tried to make fucking donut holes, of all things. Instead, he’d nearly set her kitchen on fire, along with himself.

She groaned again, walking over to the sink and throwing open the window above it. She’d opened up a few other windows throughout the house, hoping that it might help clear the acrid stench; however, nothing seemed to help. Reaching down, she pumped some soap onto her hands, and scrubbed them roughly.

“Do... do I need medical attention, Leftenant?” Crane called over from the table.

Abbie groaned a third time.

“Probably,” she said, rinsing her hands, “but the thought of turning you loose on unsuspecting and likely over-tired and over-stressed medical staff seems absolutely cruel at this point, so we’re doing this at home.”

“Ah,” he replied.  
”Besides, I texted Joe. He said you’ll probably be fine as long as we keep the burns clean,” she told him, walking over to the table and pulling a couple of gloves out of the first aid kit.  
”Is that a new medical kit?”  
“Yup,” she said, pawing through the kit for burn ointment and gauze, “can’t quarantine with you without one. Besides, we used up the last one that time you tried to befriend the neighbor’s cat.”  
“That was no cat. It was clearly a demon in cat form.”  
“You rubbed his back end, Crane. I mean, if you’d rubbed my back end like that, I’d have turned your arm into mincemeat, too.”

Crane’s eyes went wide. He blushed furiously. Then, he changed the subject.

“Tell me, Leftenant,” he said, biting his lip again, “do I still have eyebrows?”

Abbie snorted.

“Yes, you still have eyebrows, but you might have to trim the beard a little, though.” she said, playfully fanning a finger through the front of his hair, “the short bangs, though, are definitely... interesting.”

It was Crane’s turn to groan.

“You’re not going to put this on the instantgram, are you?”  
”Oh, this is definitely going on the _instantgram,_ ” she told him, chuckling, as she pulled on the gloves, “now, hands.”

Crane offered her his hands, wincing when she touched them. His palms were red and warm, and a few blisters had begun to pop up on a few of his fingers. Abbie sighed, shaking her head. He had been lucky - incredibly lucky, in fact. The oil in the skillet he’d been using had flamed up quickly, causing a brief _WHOOSH_ of a fireball that dissipated as swiftly as it had came. It had been quick, but it had been enough. Crane had dropped spatula, the oil had splattered everywhere, and the damage had been done.

He bit his lip, fighting back the pain as she gently applied burn ointment to each finger, and the palms of both of his hands. She then dabbed more ointment on each of the tiny, red burns that dotted his face and neck. Finished, she stuck the cap back on the tube and tossed it back into the kit.

“Better?” she asked him, pulling out a roll of sterile gauze.  
“A bit, yes,” he replied, still staring at his damaged hands.

Gently, Abbie took his hands one by one, wrapping them with gauze. She covered each completely, until he had mitts instead of hands. Cutting the gauze and taping it off, she sighed heavily, and pulled off her gloves.

“All done,” she told him, walking over and tossing the used gloves in the trash.

Crane said nothing. He just stared at his bandaged hands, and then at the wall, and then back at his hands. Abbie shook her head, and walked back over.

“You okay, Crane?” She asked him, leaning down with her elbows on the table.  
“I’m... fine. Fine. Thank you,” he stammered, pausing for a moment, “it’s just... um....”  
“What?”

He looked up at her, “Pray tell, how does one... _‘use the restroom...’_ in this sort of... predicament?” He asked, with a sense of urgency and a worried look on his face.

Abbie’s eyes went wide.

“Number one or a number two?” She asked, a similar worried look breaking out on her face.

Crane bit his lip again, cocked his head, and raised an eyebrow.

And Abbie groaned for a fourth time that evening...


	5. The Redneck Bidet

It was definitely a number two.

There had been a wealth of evidence to clue her in, of course. For one thing, Crane was sitting down on the toilet, completely and utterly petrified, and turning a deeper and deeper shade of red the longer she graced his presence. There was the occasional “PLOP” that she could tell he was trying hard to suppress, followed by the inevitable “SPLASH.” There were his bare, trembling legs shining in the breeze. There was a towel covering his private bits - a towel he adjusted from time to time, depending on her proximity to him. 

And then, when she bent over in front of him, her bottom directly in his line of sight, he let off tiny farts in succession. He then cleared his throat, adjusted the towel once again, and took a strong interest in the stippling on her ceiling.

”Are you certain this is going to work, Leftenant?” he asked, voice shaky, as he watched her finish wrapping the handheld shower head with duct tape.  
“Absolutely,” Abbie lied, ripping the duct tape and tossing the roll down.

She had no idea if her idea would work, only that it _had_ to work. She and Crane were friends, they were partners, they might even be something... more. But there were some lines that were not to be crossed, some places that Abbie was not going to go. Oh no. Oh hell no.

She stood up, grabbing the handheld shower head that she’d duct-taped to an old broom handle.

“Behold! The redneck bidet!” Abbie exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear and waving her invention around like a magic wand.

Crane stared at her, looking both confused and utterly unimpressed. Abbie sighed.

“Alright, look: you strip, hop in the tub, and hose yourself off. There’s plastic bags over there to go over your hands so everything stays dry, okay?” She told him, before leaning the redneck bidet next to the tub. Abbie then turned, and walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Moments later, she crashed on the couch and waited. First came the flush, and then she heard one boot hit the tile, followed by the second. There was a rustle of clothing, and the crinkle of plastic bags. And then, Abbie lamented the fact that her walls were so paper thin. But, after that, she heard the rush of water. And then, she smiled, relishing in her genius, in her victory...

...until the screaming started.

“COLD! OH MY GOD LEFTENANT THAT IS COLD! GAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Crane screeched at the top of his lungs.

There was a crash, and a boom, and a clatter of a shower curtain hitting the tile hard. Abbie groaned loudly.

“Of course Captain Useless just froze his asshole off, because _of course_ he did!” She growled, pushing herself up and heading back to the bathroom, “I am not gonna make it through this quarantine, I swear to god...”


	6. Bugged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW:** Spiders, bugs, holes (specifically graves and bodily cavities;) enclosed spaces, being trapped, being buried alive, vomiting, asphyxiation, brief mention of physical abuse, death, calling verizon.
> 
> This is crack, but it does go a bit over the top - in fact, it’s probably the grossest thing I’ve ever written (I was actually starting to feel bad for Icky-pants, and that almost never happens.) So, if you’re squeamish, read at your own risk, okay?

“This internet outage business is getting quite ridiculous,” Crane said, as he laid on one of Abbie’s couches, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“I know,” Abbie said, with a sigh, as she reclined on the other couch, “one of us is going to have to call Verizon, I guess.”

Crane turned and stared at her as if she had just given birth to kittens.

“No. No. Anything but that,” he replied, his eyes full of terror.  
“Well, it’s not going to get fixed if we don’t,” she told him, “hey, isn’t it your turn to call?”

He nearly fell off the couch.

“No, if you recall, I made the last call. It took six hours over the course of four days, in which I talked to at least seven different people - one of which only agreed to help _after_ I threatened to cancel our account entirely. It was bad enough their own representatives had to call tech support themselves. And, only after all of that, did this one kind person they finally transferred me to manage to fix my phone. It was clearly a miracle.”

Abbie eyed him.

“Was her name ‘Yolanda?’” Abbie asked, grinning.  
“No,” Crane scoffed, “but as I made the last call, it is your turn to call Verizon.”  
“Actually, it’s not. Remember when we needed to change the billing date? I did that through an online chat, and that was _after_ your call. Therefore, it’s your turn.”  
“Online chatting does not count.”  
“Oh, it so totally does. Remember the deal we made, Mr. Eidetic Memory? Any sort of contact with that company, whether through phone, internet or mail, constitutes ‘one turn.’ I’m pretty sure I have that in writing somewhere, signed in your pretty, pretty handwriting.”

Crane looked over at her, utterly horrified.

“I’d almost rather take a beating than call,” he said, “and this is coming from a man who has taken a lot of beatings in his life.”

Abbie stared at him and raised an eyebrow.

“What? I was an irritating little bastard who could neither sit still nor stop talking, born in 1751, Leftenant,” he said with a sigh.

“Damn,” she said, “and yet, you’re still an irritating little bastard who can neither sit still nor stop talking.”

Crane glared at her. Abbie smiled.

“Well, if you’re not going to call then, I guess we just sit here... quietly... with no netflix... no _anything..._ ”

There was an awkward silence.

“You know, since we have nothing else to do but sit here and chat, I got a question for you, Crane.”  
“Yes?”  
“So, your _resurrection_. Did you ever think about how that all went down? Like, the process?”

He stared over at her, some of the color draining out of his face.

“I mean, they buried you in a hole, right? No coffin, no anything, just dirt.”  
“Apparently, yes.”  
“I know there was some magic involved in keeping you safe and healed and juicy and all, but like... your clothes? After all that time, why in the hell didn’t you emerge from that hole completely butt ass naked? Logic dictates you should’ve been streaking around Sleepy Hollow, you know.”  
“I’ve never really considered that,” he said, teeth gritted, fingers starting to wiggle at his sides. He didn’t like where this was going.  
“Did the magic also spread to your clothing? And if so, why was your coat so worn looking? Like something had been eating on it off and on for two hundred plus years?”

His fingers continued to wiggle.

“And speaking of being eaten on... I get the whole ‘magic spell’ thing the wifey put you under made you pretty much impervious to everything, but... there were still critters in that dirt. Bugs, worms, snakes, you know? In all that time you were in that hole, none of them happened by your nose or your ears or your mouth or your... _ahem... back door_ and was like ‘ooh, what a nice home in which to raise my extremely large family?’”

Crane looked over at her, horrified, eyelid twitching.

“I mean, why didn’t you wake up to find your various bodily orifices colonized by worms? Spiders? Centipedes? Millipedes? Maggots, even? You know, just all up in there, crawling, writhing, wiggling around and laying their eggs?” Abbie smirked, “I mean, you’re pretty much the textbook definition of a ‘zombie,’ so it’s a fair question.”

“Leftenant,” he mumbled, fingers still wiggling at his sides. He then absentmindedly picked at his nose, “must we continue?”

Abbie ignored him.

“And while we’re on the subject, you know how they just dumped your mostly dead carcass in a cave in the woods? How did they know the cave would still exist centuries from now? I mean, what if some asshole had bulldozed that entire area and built a parking lot right over the top of you? Boy, that would’ve ended your resurrection real quick, wouldn’t it?” She prattled on.

Crane bit his lip, “it was extremely rural, Leftenant. I doubt that was a possibility.”

“Yeah, you’d think that, but rural land in the middle of absolute nowhere? That’s prime real estate for a Dollar General right there, Crane.” Abbie giggled, “oh my god, could you imagine ol’ Headless busting into a Dollar General, axe in hand and ready to cut down your skinny ass? Only to realize you’re buried somewhere beneath the toilet paper aisle?”

Crane opened his mouth to say something, but Abbie cut him off.

“Then he’d get all pissed, toss the axe all dramatically and run out of the store. Ten minutes later, he’d return, jackhammer in hand. And the workers would be standing around watching it all go down because they don’t get paid enough to deal with that shit,” Abbie continued on, chuckling, “so, he’d finally dig you up, and you’d be laying there all blue and shit from the lack of air, just completely out of it... until you feel it. That crawling, that _writhing._ There are things in your nose, your ears, your mouth. You sit up suddenly, all Dracula-style and start screaming and picking at your everything and gagging; vomiting up worms and dirt and mucus and maybe some lizard eggs? I don’t know. And nothing’s really helping, because you can feel them all the way up in your sinus cavity - I mean, just think about it, right? The itching, the wiggling around in there... can you feel it, Crane?”

“Please, Leftenant...”

“And I mean, Headless is just there, staring like ‘the fuck is wrong with this guy?’ He’d be scratching his head if he had one. And then you hop up out of the hole, still screaming, flailing everywhere and falling into things because your legs haven’t worked in like two hundred plus years. The itch! The wriggling! And it’s not just your ears and your sinuses and your mouth - you can feel bugs in your crack now as they try to evict themselves from your asshole. So, there you are, running through the store, tripping over random junk and shit, slapping at your face, your ears... picking at your butt. And all the while, trying to fend off Headless, who’s now chasing after you with his axe...” Abbie continued on, “Crane, where are you going?”

In a huff, he sat up and pushed himself off the couch, first rubbing his nose, and then stealthily scratching his backside. He then walked quickly over to the counter, and pulled the charger out of his phone. He fidgeted with it for a moment, and then began scrolling, concentrating intently.

“What are you doing?” Abbie turned and called from the couch, trying to suppress a smile.  
“Getting you some netflix back, Leftenant,” he told her, still rubbing his nose, “just as soon as I locate the number for...” he said with a shudder, “... _Verizon_.”

Abbie turned back around, and grinned from ear to ear.

“Damn, I’m good,” she whispered to herself, giggling...


	7. Bugged, the Epilogue

“What did you buy a neti pot for, Crane?” Abbie asked, picking up the pot out of the box that had just been delivered.

Crane leered evilly at her. She knew why. She knew _exactly_ why.

“And an ear cleaning kit, too?” She questioned, picking it out of the box and flipping it over, “extremely deep cleaning. Huh.”

There was one last thing in the box, though most of it was obscured by inflatable packing materials. She raised an eyebrow, eyeing Crane. He stared back at her, still looking wounded. She grinned.

“You know, if that’s an enema, I am _so_ not helping you with that,” she said.


End file.
